


to that well remembered shore

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Gun Violence, M/M, Sort of a treasure planet AU, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: Four years ago Enjolras made a split second decision that left him stranded on the surface of a haunted moon. Now he has one goal that he's willing to risk everything for--returning to his crew, returning to Grantaire, returning home.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Enjoltaire Games 2020





	to that well remembered shore

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the shanty Rolling Home. Thank you N for the beta. ♥
> 
> This was written for Enjoltaire Games 2020 and the prompt was [Home Again](https://youtu.be/bdRUQWVGENo) by Elton John. It's vaguely a post-barricade, everyone lives, space AU.

Les Hallux O65 had been, up until a decade or so ago, one of the premier resort moons for dignitaries and millionaires. Rumor was, that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t get on the surface of the moon. Rumor was that that had been it’s downfall. 

It had taken the galaxy by surprise when the alarms sounded and hundreds of ships were in the air within minutes. Some of those ships never made it out of the artificial atmosphere before the explosions started, some of the guests never made it out of their spa rooms. 

News reports didn’t mention the workers all that much. Famous names had been taken out, why would they waste their ink on the hundreds (thousands?) of no-name, pleasant-faced resort workers, drivers, gardeners who had been lost due to anger and greed. 

Fingers were pointed, money was exchanged, and Les Hallux O65’s chapter in history came to a close. 

The moon was dead now. Populated only by ghosts. 

* * *

Enjolras hated atmospheric suits. He hated how his vision was limited. He hated the earthy taste of the air from the rebreather. He hated how he couldn’t feel the suitcase in his hand but it clanked against the suit every few steps, knocking him slightly off balance. 

His steps were silent as he made his way down the dirt path, dirt had been a luxury. Dirt had been in the brochures. 

Enjolras had grown up in the dirt of his parent’s country estate. He had grown up washing the mud of Paris’ streets off his shoes. 

The houses that lined the dirt path had once been glamorous villas but windows were blown out, shutters hung limp, dangling on rusty hinges. The once pristine paint was chipped and faded. 

It was a sad street but there was hardly a soul willing to venture this far out to raid them so their contents were subjected only to time and occasional moon-storm. 

“Enjolras!” Cosette called from one of the villas, sounding delighted. “Come quick!” 

They were out here in atmospheric suits because Cosette was turning twenty five in a handful of days (probably—they couldn’t be certain of the length of Moon Days compared to Earth Days so there was a little give and take with things like dates and time) and Enjolras wanted to make sure she had something new to mark the occasion. She had done so much for him the past four years, he owed this to her at the very least.

He pushed the door of the villa open to see her standing in front of a closet packed with fine dresses. She shuffled around in her suit, the feet clanked awkwardly against the floorboards, and gestured frantically to the dresses. A smile found its way onto his lips at the sight of her delight. In his last life, he would have scoffed at her at best but on Les Hallux O65, there was no such thing as too small a joy. "They haven't been fashionable since the moon fell in the 1820's of course but we can make them work." 

Enjolras held up the suitcase in his hand, and did not comment on how Cosette loved to guess what the galaxy's favorite fashions currently were. “Come on, let’s pack them up and get out of here before it gets dark.” 

They didn’t have proof of the reason why, but sometimes people vanished in the night. It was part of the charm of stranded life. Whether something had taken them or if it was their decision, Enjolras hoped he never found out. 

They made quick work of the dresses because the suitcase’s internal vacuum seal system was still in working order and then quickly left the villa. Enjolras hated seeing them. It made him feel like everything was done and over. It made him feel like they were lost, that they were trapped in a despondent sort of afterlife that Enjolras could not accept. 

Cosette led the way, Enjolras carried the now considerably heavier suitcase behind him. He focused on planting each step firmly in the dirt and braced for the suitcase to hit against the suit with every other motion. 

He watched the fog and clouds above them. They were thick and harmless when you were on the surface of the moon but they were impassable. The only reason people land on the surface alive is that their burning ships burnt up the fog.

They had been a lightyear away from Les Hallux O65 when the guard came upon them. Fantine and Cosette had gotten into a skip and went to seek shelter behind the moon. There was something about the fog that corrupted readings and made them inaccurate. They hadn’t wanted to of course but if the Adrasteia was to do battle, no one was willing to risk them.

There had been a traitor in their crew. As Cosette and Fantine said their goodbyes, Bossuet happened upon a communication feed that had made Enjolras’ blood run hot when he read it. A traitor. A spy. A beacon leading the Guard straight to them. 

Enjolras couldn’t remember now who had been with him when they caught up to the traitor but he remembered with a cruel clarity how Enjolras had given Le Cabuc exactly one minutes to make peace with whatever cluster of stardust he believed in but Le Cabuc had taken the decency for weakness. 

He had hit Enjolras in the face, knocking him down. There had been hands on him that he pulled away from as he raced down the hall after him, down into the ship to the skips. Cosette and Fantine were already off in one. Le Cabuc was in another, thrusters on full and Enjolras hadn’t even thought. 

Damn his life, damn his crew, the things they were fighting for were bigger than all of them. 

Enjolras had ignored the others, crashing towards the final skip. He pulled his arm out of Grantaire’s grasp. Someone had held Grantaire back or maybe he thought he could reason him back onto the ship. 

Enjolras jumped into the last skip and shot off after the traitor. 

He hadn’t been thinking. There was nothing he could have done at that point. The damage was already done. The only thing he accomplished was to abandon his crew. 

The Guard had fired on him, his ship rocked and twisted, crashing into Le Cabuc’s. Either the impact or another shot, caused the traitor’s skip to lose the right thruster in an explosion that sent all three skips crashing into Les Hallux O65’s orbit. 

Enjorlas couldn’t remember much of what happened next, he remembered the burning, he remembered relearning how to walk, how to talk, how to breath on the surface of a moon. Le Cabuc’s skip exploded, Enjolras’ was burning, Fantine and Cosette’s was right behind them, convinced they were all moments away from the end. 

It was evident in the fact they never left his side. The explosion from the traitor’s skip burnt them a path through the poisonous fog. Fantine and Cosette managed to pilot their skip relatively safely to the surface of the moon and could only watch as Enjolras’ skip crashed into several elegant buildings before he was thrown out onto the ground. They loved to tell him how they were certain they had witnessed his last moments whenever they needed him to shut his mouth and listen to them. The pair of them carried him to a small room that would become theirs. They rebandaged his wounds, supported his weight, carved them out a place in the surviving society on the moon. 

It was pure luck they had crashed into one of still running atmospheric domes. A few miles to either side and they would have suffocated the moment they left their skips.

Enjolras had grown up on Earth. He had joined the Académie for the sole purpose of changing things for Earth, for France, for Paris. 

Now he had Les Hallux O65. He had Cosette and Fantine, he had Floréal who was quick to fight, Madame Houcheloup who was quick to bring him into the greenhouse. He had rebuilt his strength gardening. 

Matelote and Gibelotte who both had the slightly unnerving tendency to offer him their elbow for support right when he needed it. Irma, who refused to do a single thing for him, forcing him to (re)learn how to do it himself. Navet, who was only a child, born after the fall of the moon and who had lost both his parents to the dark. 

Enjolras took another step, and then another. 

He had to keep walking forward, trusting his friends were doing the same. Trusting that, eventually, their paths would meet again on the journey back home. 

* * *

Enjolras, of course, wasn’t content with just sitting around and waiting for trust to bring his crew safely back to him, or him to them. He was going to make it back home if it killed him. There was enough wreckage for numerous attempts to rebuild ships and, although Enjolras’ repair skills were laughable at best, he had assisted Feuilly and Grantaire in numerous repairs and he wasn’t absolutely lost. Some of the others were keen to help as well which was the only reason the wreck in front of him still looked ship shaped.

The brig whose wiring he was elbow deep in had seen better days and Enjolras felt a bit like the man from Jehan’s favorite novel as he worked away on it. There were different patches of wood in the hull. Twenty of them had carefully removed a mast from a mostly totaled ship on the edge of the canyon and carried it back here. 

He reached over his shoulder and after a moment, Cosette asked, “big one or little one?”

“Big.” 

She placed the wrench in his hand. It was old and left black grime on both their hands. But it was as good as the key to his Paris apartment, the only possession of his that had survived the crash down to the moon. It had burnt a mark on his chest, reminding him of how far he had to go for it to be of use again. 

He was repairing the ship and he was going home. There would be time for rest when he was back in his tiny, lumpy bed with moth-eaten sheets overtop him. 

Enjolras hadn’t grown fascinated by the heavens. He grew up focused on the world around him, the weight that settled on his shoulders when he realized he had the power to act, to fight. He remembered Combeferre’s hands, clamoring over the side to pull Enjolras and Prouvaire back into the hoverraft as they careened through the outskirts of Paris but not why they were trying to evade the guard. 

He remembered the dimples in Courfeyrac’s cheeks when they both realized the other was planning on deserting as soon as the Académie taught them a way forward. 

He remembered the way Grantaire’s breath hitched the first time he reached out and touched him in the dark. 

Enjolras sucked in a breath and held it, trying to not let the memory of Grantaire wash over him. 

It did of course, thinking of Grantaire always left him adrift. 

Enjolras twisted the wrench several times, concentrating on securing the door that protected the wiring of the atmospheric system. If he made it off the moon this would be the most important thing. Without it, he would have to rely on the atmospheric suit and ropes to keep him from freezing and floating away into the darkness of space. The atmospheric system with its tubes and filters and wires had to be absolutely perfect. Feuilly had let himself burn his hand once when Enjolras once mistakenly hooked one of the humidity tubes up to an exit valve.

Grantaire had refused to speak to Enjolras until he could change the oxygen filter without looking. He had been entirely too self-satisfied that day when he realized the power he had over Enjolras. Enjolras had called him all sorts of names in a fit of embarrassed annoyance but the oxygen filter wasn’t on his list of things to worry about. The system was complicated enough without having to worry about it. 

After several more twists, Enjolras sank back in his heels, shut the door, and latched it. Finally. He (and about ten others who had filtered in with a missing piece of wiring or a bit of advice) had been working on this system alone for months now. The closer he got to finishing, the harder everything became. One misstep in space meant death. 

“Are you done?” Cosette asked, her voice held a twinge of annoyance but Enjolras knew that was because she was hungry but too stubborn to leave him alone. 

The first few months on the moon Enjolras had been, by everyone’s account, including his own, completely insufferable. He had been hurt and angry and terrified in all the worst ways. He and Cosette had screamed at each other viciously throwing their worst fears at each other like they were accusations. His crew. Her husband and her father. Dead or alone. The fog hid the stars from them and for all they knew there was a debris field miles above their head. 

They were better now, their anger and fear polished down into a dull ache. They were allies not each other’s punching bags. 

Enjolras pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the way his knees cracked, “Yes, Cosette, we’re done for today. Let’s go find some dinner.” 

She smiled and pulled him down the hall. She reminded him of Courfeyrac some days with her tendency towards a warm sort of careless affection Enjolras hadn’t realized he was reliant on until Courfeyrac was gone and Cosette was fussing over him. 

“Where are you from?” Cosette asked as they walked through the underground halls that led up to the monumental inn above them sounding as if she had just realized he had never told her. He probably hadn’t. They hadn’t really interacted much aboard the Adrasteia. Enjolras didn’t quite understand her thought process but she might be thinking about where he was planning to take the ship. 

Enjolras didn’t want to say Grantaire’s breath and Joly’s laughter and Combeferre’s steady hands pulling him back from out of thin air so he simply replied, “Paris. Earth.” 

Paris was a city of dreamers and romantics. It was full of space kids chasing a dream and elderly couples finally come down from the stars. 

Paris flowed through his veins, he hated it, he’d bled for it. It was his and he belonged to it. It was the beginning and the end of him. It was home, though, and he was going back. 

“Oh, that’s right, sorry. Same as Marius.” 

Marius was Cosette’s husband. They had been married for a grand total of two months before the Guard found the Adrasteia. Her family hadn’t been supposed to be on the brig but Marius was loyal and Cosette was determined and Cosette’s parents were fierce in the protection of their daughter. Enjolras hadn’t been happy then but Cosette and Fantine had saved his life so he was grateful no one listened to him when he told them they didn’t have a place aboard his ship.

Fantine was half cyborg and Enjolras knew the modifications were the only thing keeping her alive. Her steady calm in the face of his injuries was the reason he was still alive today. They hadn’t been able to do any cybernetic modifications on his broken body but he had healed without them. No one had expected him to pull through but Fantine and her daughter. Her leg had partially rusted on the moon but it was in a purely mechanical spot and it didn’t hurt her. He felt responsible for the rust anyway. 

Cosette pushed open the door of what used to be a café located inside the hundred room inn and was now something of a gathering spot. There were tunnels connecting all the large buildings and the survivors tended to clump together. Several groups lived in other inns and cottages on the planet but this inn, named after the lighthouse of Alexandria, held the majority of the survivors. 

There was a stage in the corner and Gibelotte was entertaining herself by singing to Madame Houcheloup’s dinner crowd in an extravagant dress she had found on one of their supply runs. Enjolras constantly had to remind himself that their supply runs _did_ bring them things other than pretty dresses. They had to take their joys as they came. Which was why Enjolras’ work vest used to be someone’s evening finery. The delicate stitching was torn and grease-stained. The others thought it was hilarious. 

A small cry came up from a table in the center of the room and Cosette led the way over to it. Enjolras’ eyes swept over the room despite the fact that it was impossible for there to be any new faces on the moon. He sat down and folded his hand on the table in front of him. 

“We’re very nearly done with repairs.” Cosette told their small crowd--Floréal, Matelote, and Navret (who ruined his attempt to look older than eight by kicking his feet as they dangled off his chair). “Enjolras has just completed the atmosphere.” 

“So soon?” Floréal asked, her voice an odd mix of sincerity and teasing. Enjolras’ skills were notoriously terrible but there was a large group of survivors who had taken an interest in seeing Enjolras sail off. Either out of an earnest belief or just as a sort of entertainment, it didn’t quite matter to him, the end result was the same. He was going to battle the fog and try to be the first to escape the moon since the initial explosions. 

Enjolras spared them no details as he explained what he had done and what he had left to accomplish. There was no way of knowing when someone would have information that would help. 

Mandame Houcheloup brought dinner over to them, just a simple stew of root vegetables and greens—all that they could grow in a greenhouse with an artificial sunlight system that was more unreliable than the water. 

Dinner talk was light, just a trading of information back and forth. Despite there being a couple hundred people on the moon, an economy hadn’t really sprung up. Everyone was one ounce of bad luck away from disaster. If you had enough to share, you shared. There was one functioning greenhouse and no other food beside it. Les Hallux was an odd mix of self-reliant and community-reliant. Everyone was exhausted just surviving. 

“When we get off this rock, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?” Matelote asked after they finished eating but everyone still hung around because there was nothing waiting for them in their rooms but a chill and sleep as Gibelotte continued to sing about charting a course home. Enjolras was starting to get a bit raw under the collar and it would be time for him to call it a night soon. He had a glass of wine still and, although he was fairly certain every one of his old crew would have refused a glass of the bitter drink, he could finally see the appeal in turning to it to help calm his mind. 

“I’m going to find a pâtisserie and I’m going to get my hands on as many sweets as possible until I’m absolutely sick.” Floréal grinned, sipping her wine with a grimace. 

Navret mimicked her action although his wine was so watered down, it couldn’t have tasted bad. Enjolras had on more than one occasion finished his drink after he darted off on whatever sort of adventures eight-year-olds got into in the ruins of a resort moon. “I’m going to find a sea and swim in it.” 

“You’ll drown, love.” Floréal said and pat his hand with a sympathetic frown. 

Navret didn’t fall for her teasing, he just lifted his chin, “you expect a sea to stop me?” 

Navret reminded Enjolras of the gamin they picked up at stars know what port but who charmed his way into their crew with a toothy grin. He had been around Navret’s age when he first snuck aboard the Adrasteia and...he would be a small adult by now. Gavroche had always threatened that he would have his pistol if Enjolras was killed before him. 

There would be no getting his pistol back from him now if they ever met again. Worryingly, Enjolras found it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Gavroche had to be at least thirteen by now, surely that was old enough to hold a pistol? 

Gibelotte bounded off the stage and the end of the last song and came to sit with them. They made quite an image crowded around the table together. Gibelotte in her finery, Enjolras and Cosette in grease stained menswear. Navret wore clothes Fantine had sized to fit him but he still had a lot of growing to do until they really did. Floréal and Matelote wore identical dresses that were once worn by waitresses but they deemed fashionable enough for daily wear. Enjolras should be used to this, his crew was from all over the galaxy, from every class and station. There were less than a dozen of them but they were the most varied array of sailors. 

Gibelotte looked at their glasses and then she took a sip of Enjolras’ which was fullest. “I’ll never tire of singing. When your ship is space worthy I’m going to head straight for the nearest port and make myself a small fortune off of drunkards and lovestuck romantics.” 

Enjolras smiled and Matelote hushed the table. “Our vinegar wine has convinced our revolutionary to tell us a story from his mysterious past.”

Cosette ginned, “Oh yes—the night club on Tuileries.” 

Sometimes Enjolras forgot Cosette was married to Marius who Courfeyrac had kidnapped when they were first on the run from the Académie. He and Marius didn’t speak that much so his memories made it seem like Marius had been a newer addition to the crew than he actually was. 

“The café was frequented by the heads of the police who were funneling money from bread for the poor to a stockpile of ammunition to their forces. Grantaire and I went alone. We rented a room above the café and Grantaire started singing at night.”

“Oh that’s right I forgot I had a duet partner out there in the galaxies.” Gibelotte whispered and Matelote tugged her closer to her, kissing the corner of her lips to shut her up. Sometimes they reminded Enjolras of the way things used to be between him and Grantaire, although neither thought it necessary to hide their affection. 

“We had a plan to catch them in the act, expose them, but one of the chiefs cornered Grantaire one night, it was late, I was half asleep behind the bar—and I didn’t know anything was wrong until Grantaire burst through the back door with his sleeve ripped half off, looking positively gleeful. The chief’s wife had caught him trying to make a move on Grantaire and—we spent a month there being impossibly careful and his wife was so furious she exposed everything herself. She ran half the police force off of the planet and ultimately we did nothing.” 

“Well, Grantaire _did_ seduce that chief at the right moment with his sultry voice.” Floréal pointed out and Enjolras sent her a withering look. 

“I was so angry that we had wasted that time but...we accomplished what we set out to do and, planetary living isn’t the life for me, but it was nice, that month. I miss it.” 

No one was cruel enough to point out he had been living a stationary life for the past several years and Matelote turned to Gibelotte, “the brig is almost space worthy.” 

Gibelotte turned to Enjolras, all traces of tiredness gone from her face, “truly?” 

Enjolras nodded and began to explain everything all over again. 

* * *

He heard Feuilly and Grantaire arguing every time he worked on the ship and that was probably the only reason the whole thing hadn’t broken apart yet. He had been an extra pair of hands for them for so long that he had picked things up without realizing. Currently he was walking around the brig, which someone had repainted Proserpine on the side of in bright red. That had (probably) what the chipped paint had said when they fist dragged the shattered hull into the indoor repair bay. The resort moon liked to hide the gears and cogs that ran it, which benefited them because it meant they could continue to work on surviving after it went dark. 

He was listening to Feuilly run through his list of things they had to get down before they could set sail again and, with his heart racing, Enjolras realized that everything was done. He couldn’t think of a single thing more to do to the ship. 

“Did you do it?” Cosette called breathlessly, and even though her voice was soft, it echoed in the tin tunnels around them. Enjolras hadn’t heard her sneak up but she had a novel tucked under her arm so she might have been here for hours and he had been too busy wracking his brain to notice. She did that sometimes, just sat in the same room as him and read. She didn’t like being alone and he couldn’t blame her. 

Enjolras looked to her and then back behind him as he climbed the plank back to solid ground. “I think she’s as space worthy as she’s ever going to be.” 

Cosette gasped, laughing and she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. His arms came up to wrap around her in the lightest of hugs. A twinge of sadness ebbed through him, he was going to miss her warm smile. 

Once he was off the moon he’d bring Pontmercy back to rescue his wife and mother-in-law. He’d come back for all of them. 

“I’ll go pack my things. We’re already gathering what supplies we can spare. We’ve discussed it with everyone.” Cosette turned away from him, breathless and Enjolras caught her wrist. 

“You will _not_ come with me.” Enjolras frowned, “there’s no way of knowing if this is even spaceworthy.” 

There was an oxygen adaptor hanging from the wire harness because he had run out of space in the engine and in all honesty he was going to die the moment the hull vanished into the clouds. There was no helping it, though, he had to get home. He would not stay here. 

Cosette hiked up here skirts in response and marched up the plank. “Maman and I are of course coming with you.” She looked around, hands on her hips. “Where are the living quarters? I’ll start moving my things in immediately.”

“Cosette. I will not have you gamble your life away on my ship building skills.” 

Cosette didn’t respond, just sent him the same glare she did the first time she climbed aboard the Adrasteia after Marius. 

Enjolras shut his eyes and went off to find himself a drink.   
  


* * *

  
The drink turned out to be a terrible idea. 

“If you think I’m not getting off this space rock you have another reckoning coming, Monsieur Enjolras.” The scars on Floréal’s arms were stark against her skin as she pressed her fists into her hips. She had nearly died in one of the initial explosions. She had only survived because part of the building fell, trapping her beneath the stone but shielding her from the blast. There had been no one left to dig her out so she had to do so on her own. 

“I can sail her on my own.” Enjolras protested for the third time in just as many minutes. He wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s life in his attempt to return home to Paris. 

Floréal laughed, shaking her head, “of course you can’t. You need a crew. Hasn’t your time on this moon taught you that? You _need_ a _crew_.” 

Enjolras looked straight behind the bar, to the empty shelves that once held expensive spirits. Floréal took his silence as agreement and she placed her hand on his shoulder and then took off, promising he didn’t have to worry about anything. 

* * *

A crew seemed to form overnight and Enjolras would have been impressed if he didn’t have the feeling this had been decided months, if not years ago. For one, the crew was made up primarily of the small group of people he knew by name. The ones he ate with, the ones who would wander around the ship asking how the rigging worked or how the ship steered: Cosette, Fantine, Irma, Floréal, Matelote, Gibelotte, and Navet. It was a skeleton crew but they would make it work. 

There was enough food stored away already to last them their journey and Enjolras didn’t know what it meant that no one had thought to consult him on any of this aspect of getting off the moon. He hadn’t thought to ask or prepare, his mind was already in Paris but still...

It took them only a week to be ready to set sail. There was a nervous hum about the island. People who rarely spoke to Enjolras now had last minute advice and well wishes. 

They set sail midday when the fog was at its thinnest because the nearby star burnt a good portion of it up. They had figured that out behind his back as well—they would send explosives out into the fog and hopefully it would burn them a clear path out. 

“Are you ready?” Enjolras breathed, standing in his atmospheric suit at the railing and Fantaire placed her hand overtop of his. He couldn’t feel it through the suit but the meaning held. They had a skeleton crew, they didn’t know if the explosives would work, they didn’t know if the atmospheric system would hold. Once again, Enjolras was risking the people who meant the most to him but they were resolved, they didn’t take no for an answer and Enjolras had no one on his side. They were willing to risk their lives the same as he was and now he just had to trust that his crew—his friends—Feuilly and Grantaire and Bahorel and Bossuet and the rest had taught him enough to break through the fog and return to Paris.

The first time Enjolras left earth, Grantaire had all but wrestled him below deck. They had been arguing about something that had seemed a nonconsequential annoyance back then but felt like everything now. The floor had lurched and they had paused their argument as they reached out as one and clung to each other for balance. Grantaire had looked at their hands clasped tight together and he had said _I guess this is it then._ Enjolras had been frustrated—it was the start of everything with endless possibilities in front of them—but Grantaire had been right. Enjolras thought of the warmth of his hand every time his ship set sail. They had thrown their lot in together until Enjolras had physically pulled away. 

Grantaire absence was almost a physical presence in Enjolras’ life. Especially as the ship launched towards the fog. 

Fantine and Floréal fired off the cannons and the fog above them erupted in fire. Cosette clung tight at the helm, keeping them on course. He could only just see her eyes and the top of her head in the atmospheric suit but she held firm, keeping them on course. 

Enjolras’ eyes were on the sky. They had seconds to turn around if their plan failed but—

Space. 

The grey fog above them gave way to the vast darkness of space, “put the thrusters to maximum speed!” Enjolras bellowed, heart lurching as if Paris was just beyond the fog, as if it had always been _just_ beyond the fog. 

His eyes scanned the empty sky above them but there was nothing. From below deck, x shouted they had an all clear and the ship rocketed away from Les Hallux O65. 

They all drank in the sight of stars and distant planets and Enjolras held his breath as he searched for a debris field. 

There was nothing. 

“Oh thank the stars.” Fantine whispered and then turned back for one last look at Les Hallux O65.

Enjolras did not turn to watch it fade into the distance. The first thing was to check to see if the ship’s artificial atmosphere held, the second was to chart a course home. 

By the time Enjolras made it down the stairs, Irma and Floréal were already moving about sans suits. Enjolras took his helmet off with help from Fantine’s always surprisingly strong grasp. 

By the time he pried himself out of the suit, Cosette was bounding down the stairs. “We’re set for Earth. We should be landing in Gennevilliers in approximately two weeks time. We ran a scan and there is no debris or meteor fields within three light years. Wherever the Adrasteia is, it isn’t still here.” 

Floréal laughed, a little unkindly, and turned to Enjolras “there will always be a little bit of Académie in you, I think. You always have that look on your face when you’re not the most capable one in the room. Not all of us need fancy schooling. As you should be well aware of by now.” 

Enjolras smiled because he knew this was true and he knew she had every right to tell him this. “Let’s see if we can intercept any communication with our damaged and outdated system.” 

“And there’s our revolutionary.” Irma sighed, although she was already headed towards the captain’s quarters. “Always thinking of something to do. If we run across any merchant ships are we going to attempt to raid their supplies?” 

It _would_ make the two weeks more bearable, “if they’re small enough I believe we could take them. Although I’d rather not bring attention to ourselves so you all should stay on your guard. It won’t do to attack near Earth.” 

From the corner of his eye he saw Fantaine shoot Cosette a worried glance but Cosette only grinned back at her mother and started to climb out of her suit.   
  


* * *

  
They were all a bit irritated from hunger but Proserpine landed in Gennevilliers without any incidents involving piracy. It was for the best, technology could change a lot in four years and their technology dated back a decade or more. 

“The archives. Archives still exist, don’t they?” Floréal asked, marching down the plank. She looked like she belonged, although their clothing was a bit out of fashion. It happened often in large destination ports. People travel great distances and an out of date or out of season outfit didn’t quite draw attention on the docks. They would have to exchange some of the money they had taken from Les Hallux and purchase whatever brand of nonsense masqueraded as fashionable nowadays if they had any hope of blending in with the cafes and salons. 

First things first, head to the library and start searching the archives. 

Enjolras had grown up in Paris but after all those years interacting with the same three hundred people, it was a bit of a culture shock. It was as if Paris was his first foreign port and he was nineteen again with Courfeyrac on his left and Grantaire on his right. It felt a bit strange walking around with a pistol strapped to his waist again as well, but there was no way of telling what Paris held for them so it was best to be prepared. 

To be completely honest, Enjolras felt a little underwhelmed being home. He had imagined that everything would again slip into place but he felt as disjointed as ever. 

Paris had changed, shops had closed and new ones had opened in their place. The fashions were different, the crowds were more diverse. There were still beggars on the street, there were still polished carriages rolling by unperturbed. 

Cosette and Floréal both wrapped their arms around his and all but dragged him up the steps of the library. He didn’t quite know why they were so instant on marching him into the library and then down to the basement archives. He looked around but the odds of him knowing anyone in Paris were laughable. 

Actually, the odds were not in his favor--the most likely people still in Paris were, one, his grandfather and two,people who knew him as a deserter from the Académie. 

“Come on.” Floréal hissed and only let go of him when they were in front of a datascreen typing in the approximate date of when Enjolras was last on the Adrasteia. 

They didn’t speak as Enjolras cranked the knob that made the holographic screen turn the pages of newspaper after newspaper. It took them several long, nerve-wracking minutes but eventually they found a news report that referenced an official report number. Enjolras didn’t dare breathe as he called the report up and they all pressed together to read it once it was on the screen. Floréal had her hand overtop Enjolras’ and they turned the pages together. 

“You stopped him in time.” Cosette whispered, leaning over the datascreen, her brown hair blocking some of the words from view. “If they had been captured there would be mention of Papa.” 

Cosette’s mother hadn’t told her the truth about her father until they’d been stranded on the moon for some time. He had been wanted by the guard for theft of food for his sister’s family. His real name was Jean Valjean and he apparently had been something of a legend on Earth. There had been a semi-public cat and mouse chase between him and an inspector that had ended when Fantine begged him to take care of Cosette. Fauchelevent had taken Cosette and Fantine both and they escaped with a nunnery convoy headed across the galaxy. He had technically adopted the both of them, but once Cosette started calling him Papa, it had stuck. 

News of Valjean would probably still be noteworthy but it was entirely possible that either there was nothing left to identify or the Guard simply hadn’t made the connection. It had been years since the last time Jean Valjean was in the headlines. 

“It says they were defeated in a crushing blow.” Floréal whispered, leaning back and moving her hand away from Enjolras’.

Enjolras shook his head, continuing to study the report, “This report is riddled with lies. My skipper headed away from the fleet, not towards it. We crashed into the moon. They didn’t destroy the skips as they said. I think they escaped.” 

“Enjolras…” Floréal said, reaching out and putting her hand over his again, this time in comfort. She was outnumbered though because a small smile was finding its way onto Cosette’s face and the typewriter attached to the datascreen was copying down the article to take with them. 

If they had been captured or killed it would have said it. A crushing defeat was 

They did several more searches, all vague, the name of the ship and Cosette’s father’s birth name were as specific as they dared go but there was nothing else in the system. It made sense, of course The guard had nearly caught them, they wouldn’t have gone close to earth again. If they were still alive they would be across the galaxy at the very least. 

“Where to now?” Cosette asked after they exhausted their search of the archives and reentered the bustle of the Parisian streets. 

The worry for her husband and father was evident on her face and Enjolras wouldn’t waste a single moment until they had answers. “We go see if the key still works in the apartment and then we update our wardrobe so we blend in as we go search for more information.” 

“You two search the apartment. I’ll grab the others from the café and we’ll get a head start on the shopping.” Enjolras didn’t quite like the sound of that but it was for solely vain reasons so he handed Floréal the money and let her go. 

It wasn’t until he was looking at the door to his old familiar lodgings that it occurred to him that they might never see either Floréal or the money again. 

But with that door in front of him, he couldn’t find it in him to care. He took the key from his jacket’s pocket and it fit into the lock like a memory. Glancing to Cosette for a heartbeat, he turned the key and opened the door. It swung open as it had a thousand times before but it was dark and dusty inside. 

“Hello?” Cosette called and she went off to search the bedrooms. Enjolras knew they were empty so he didn’t bother and Cosette was back a moment later, frowning and shaking her head. 

It was impossible but he was finally home. He had fought his way off that moon, across the galaxy and he had done it—home. At last. 

He took a breath in but the air was stale. Everything was exactly as he had left it, the table he sat with Combeferre and Jehan arguing the semantics of philosophies. The bed he had held Courfeyrac on as he sobbed when he realized that he could never see his sisters again once they made their move and left the Académie. The bookshelf where Grantaire had once pushed him up against, neither one could stop smiling as they kissed over and over until the sun had set and Enjolras pulled away only to find something to fix them for dinner. 

Cheese if he remembered correctly, maybe some bread. 

Enjolras looked around the dusty apartment, suddenly feeling a keen sense of isolation. Of course. Of course this isn’t what he got off that planet for. This empty apartment was not home. 

Cosette took a step closer to him, reached out and put a hand on his arm. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

He wanted to tell her it was alright but, even with all the inaccuracies littering the lines, the report stung. A crushing defeat. What if it was right?

“What are you doing in here?” A voice said roughly and Cosette let out a shrill scream. Enjolras spun around, pistol drawn but Cosette was running towards the man not away and she threw her arms around him. Enjolras met the man’s eye over her shoulder and put the safety back on.

Pontmercy.

Alive after all.

A wave of relief washed over him (the report was _wrong_ ) as Marius held Cosette, they were both shaking and crying and Enjolras turned back to the bookshelf. He traced his fingers along the worn spines and pulled out his old Advanced Navigation course book. 

There were words scribbled in the margins, inkblots maring the printed text. Drawings in charcoal and graphite wherever there was room. _Grantaire_. How many times had Enjolras scolded him for destroying his school books? They weren’t school books any longer, they were hard evidence that they had been here. That Grantaire has existed. That, once, Enjolras belonged. Nothing the Guard did could take that away. 

“Enjolras…” Marius began, apparently enough over the shock of seeing his wife again to speak. “Who else is with you?” 

Enjolras’ grip on the book tightened as he shut it and turned to Marius. “What do you mean?”

Marius’ expression broke and he clutched Cosette’s hand tightly. “I was the only survivor. Myself and Ultime.” 

“No.” The word passed Enjolras lips and the flat tilted beneath his feet. The book in his hand was heavy but he had been through this desperation before. The only thing to do in face of it was to be logical. 

Cosette put a hand over her lips, “I’m so sorry.” 

“No.” Enjolras repeated. This is not what he fought to get off that moon for. He did not come all this way to find Pontmercy and death. “I’m sorry I don’t mean to be curt but do you know that or is that what the official report says because we have a copy and—it’s wrong. My skip went in the opposite direction. The report is incorrect. There was no debris field when we left the moon. They might still be out there.”

Marius looked at him, pity and confusion and then a brilliant smile washed it all away. “The stories I was told do not make sense. There’s so many pieces that don’t fit together. I was pulled from the ship, Ultime came after me, I was hurt but he hid me below the deck, they never knew. The Adrasteia was never found. Could they really be out there?” He grinned at him a moment longer before he was overcome and rushed to throw his arms around him. Enjolras returned the hug a little tentatively before Marius turned back to his wife. 

“Both of you follow me, I’ll take you to your Papa, Cosette.” 

Cosette sagged with relief and Marius rushed back to her side, “I’m okay. Maman is with me. She’s in the city with us. She should be with the others.”

Marius whispered his relief into his wife’s hair and then turned to Enjolras, “I pay to keep the flat. If anyone was to return I wanted there to be a place for them to return to and... _you’re here_.”

“Thank you, Marius.” Enjolras said and he meant it. Marius offered him a small smile in return and then he led the way out into the city. Enjolras made sure to tuck the course book into his bag and locked the door behind him. Then, they were on the streets again. 

The city moved about them, people scowling and laughing. He couldn’t help but think how obvious it was that he did not belong to this city. Of course Paris wasn’t what he was after. He didn’t want the cafes with their artists and poets. He wanted Jehan looking up at the stairs as Enjolras copied down loopholes in astronomical treaties. He wanted tipsy musings. He wanted tea gone cold. The parlors were empty without Courfeyrac sweeping off his hat in a dramatic bow as charmed potential allies. 

What were the streets without Grantaire’s loud flirting, threading to abandon his ill-tempered lover for every woman passing by? Enjolras placed his hand over his bag to reassure him the book had not vanished from it. 

“Enjolras, are you okay?” Cosette asked, her voice low in the crowd. 

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just thinking about how I’m going to track them down.” 

“You’ll find them with us.” Cosette said like it was obvious. “Paris was not our destination. Home is.”

Enjolras turned to look at her with an eyebrow raised and she shook her head as she rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Well, of course I’m not going to leave you in this city and you’re not going to leave me.” Cosette frowned and shook her head. “We’re going to gather our supplies and then we’ll search every last galaxy for them.”

“Yes.” Marius agreed. “If they‘re out there, we _will_ find them.” 

“The others—” Enjolras began but Cosette stopped him with a glance.

“Have been stranded on the moon, they’re not about to remain on Earth when they can have the stars.” Cosette laughed, reaching out, grabbing Enjolras hand, and squeezing it. “We’re your crew. We are with you.” 

Cosette sometimes made everything sound so simple when she spoke. There were a hundred thoughts and feelings echoing in Enjolras head but it really _was_ that simple leaving Paris behind. 

They collected Cosette’s father who held her tight the entire time Mairus and Enjolras packed up his things. They met up with the crew at a cafe Enjolras was pretty sure he and Jehan had once been kicked out of. Floréal grinned and held up several wrapped packages almost menacingly. Everyone agreed to two nights in Paris to see the city (Navet proclaimed he had a date with the Seine which received a resounding _no_ from everyone), collect news and supplies and then, just like that, they were off again. 

White-knuckled, Enjolras clung to the side of the ship watching the once familiar port grow distant. He had dreamt of Paris for years and it felt wrong to be leaving so soon. He had considered it home but…it was just another thing he had misunderstood. 

“Are you alright?” Fauchelevent asked, walking with all the grace of an experienced sailor. 

“I feel like I’m giving up on Paris. On Earth.” Enjolras couldn’t turn away from the port. 

“What can one man do? Especially one who has a crew somewhere in the galaxy. We are always strongest together.” 

“You’re correct.” Enjolras sighed but there was no way of knowing if he was giving up the chance for change for ghosts. When it came down to it, they were _his_ ghosts and for them he would risk everything. 

He went below deck before Earth was out of sight and he laid down in his hammock. Before Les Hallux O65, Enjolras hardly slept alone. Someone was always an arms reach away, if not in the same bunk as him. 

He had to believe they were out there—that Grantaire was out there—and they were missing him as well.   
  


* * *

  
There was an ebb and flow that came with searching. Anticipation and disappointment. Fear and relief. Hopeless longing and hopeful desperation. 

They flew through ports. They scanned headlines. Weeks— months—went by and Enjolras kept his eyes on the stars above them. One of them had to have seen which way the Adrasteia had gone. The Académie had taught him how the stars could guide him home. 

If only that was still true.   
  


* * *

  
Saint-Hyacinthe was an unassuming trading moon and that’s why Fantine suggested it. Ships were constantly in motion here, loading and unloading, breaking down and sailing away rebuilt. 

It was nice to be able to disembark the ship knowing that in a few hours time he would be sailing away again. They were no longer trapped, they were free to go where they pleased.

Enjolras walked the dock almost in a dream, thinking about what his life would be like if they hadn’t faced the Guard. What if they continued smuggling goods under the notice of King and Governor? He could be walking to make a deal at this very moment. Feuilly would be on his right, Grantaire on his left. They could be walking back to the ship for a coffee, for—

He saw a mast in the distance and the dream fled. Brigs always swelled his lungs with hope. Excitement hummed under Enjolras’ skin like a motor as he made his way down the dock to get a better look at the ship. 

It was dwarfed by the galleon next to it but he knew the shape of that ship anywhere. Technically they had stolen it but legally it was theirs. Bossuet had won it off of a guardsmen on Dumaine. It had been Grantaire’s fault they were there in the first place but they had gotten a ship out of the disaster so who was he to complain? 

The sight of it was enough to knock his breath away. He knew every plank on that ship. Enjolras looked around but he was alone in the crowd, everyone else on his crew was off gathering supplies or chasing tales in the tavern. 

The Adrasteia was in front of him. His ship. Their ship. 

With his feet moving of their own accord, he slipped through the crowd without looking away. It was battered and had been repaired--that much was clear but it was still well tended to. There was a patch in one of the sails but the ship’s name gleamed. _Adrasteia_. He caught sight of no familiar faces on the dock but there was a woman standing at the bottom of the gangplank. Her skirt was tied up out of her way and she had a checklist in her hand as she surveyed supplies. 

“I request to speak to Captain Courfeyrac.” Enjolras told the unfamiliar woman who looked him over once. 

“Thought you might be a scorned lover for a second but you’re too old for that.” She said with a scowl and an accent he didn’t recognize. 

“Does he have many?” Enjolras asked and then regretted it instantly. If any of his friends—his crewmates, his family, were here they would tease him relentlessly. But they would be _here_ to tease him and it was a perfectly valid question in response to her comment. _He_ was _too old_ to be one of Courfeyrac’s scored lovers? What in the name of all the starry skies did _that_ mean?

The woman’s lips quirked up for a moment before they turned back down into a frown. She knew things about Courfeyrac that Enjolras didn’t, the very notion felt absurd. Her voice was casual and disinterested when she answered him, “Not so much anymore. What do you want with him?” 

“I wanted to inquire into any openings on the crew.” Enjolras had the feeling she was being overly cautious and perhaps he hadn’t thought things through. He should have waited instead of running up to a stranger demanding to speak to Courfeyrac when he probably wasn’t even using his actual name in port. 

“You’d have better luck with one of the bigger ships, but, can you cook?”

Enjolras grinned at the absurdity of the notion. They were fairly certain that a star had once gone supernova when they threw one of Enjolras’ attempts at supper overboard too close to the star’s gravitational pull. 

The woman took the grin as confirmation, “You’re hired. The captain is at the Last Lion Inn, go tell him Musichetta hired you.” The woman said in the same bored voice. Enjolras didn’t even think—he had passed that inn on his way to the docks. Spinning around, he raced back into the city. 

Courfeyrac was here. On the same planet as him for the first time in years. Nothing would stop him. 

Of course that’s when the gun shots sounded. 

Enjolras turned around half convinced it was the woman from the Adrasteia firing on him but then he saw the ships in the distance, the Patron-Minette flag flying from all of them and _shit_. He continued to run to the inn, he had to get Courfeyrac, get them out of here. People knocked against him in their rush to get away, back to their ships, to their homes, anywhere but in Patron-Minette’s path. 

Marius cried out from somewhere nearby and Enjolras squeezed through two women to see Marus leaning against a building, blood bright on his coat. 

Enjolras ran to where Marius was swearing, holding his right arm as it bled. He looked over his shoulder—the inn was right there, literally _right there_ but—

“Wait!” Someone shouted behind them, but there wasn’t time to turn around for the unfamiliar voice. He didn’t see who was firing or where they were but Marius was hurt and he had to get him back. 

“Back to the ship. Everyone knows to meet us there. We’re leaving.” Enjolras hissed. 

“But—” Marius began but Enjolras didn’t care. They would wait off planet, keep an eye on the skies and follow the Adrasteia away from the pirates. 

There were more gunshots and the woman from the ship swore and fell heavy on the ground next to them. Marius flinched away but Enjolras tugged her closer to the building and out of the way of the panicking crowd. Blood blossomed on her side but her dress was torn and it looked like the bullet only grazed her. 

There was a chance the ship had been sold or lost but there was also a chance she was now part of his crew so Enjolras looked her in the eyes. “Come with me.” Enjolras pulled the woman’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted her up. She gasped and swore at the pain but kept up with him and Marius as they rounded the building and raced for the ship. 

Patron-Minette had captured entire ports before. They left no one alive. Matelote and Irma had joked about them, had joked about joining up with them because they seemed to be ruling the skies. 

“Is everyone accounted for?’ Enjolras called as he neared the Proserpine. There was a scramble to load supplies, ready the Proserpine for voyage but thankfully they were just now finishing up. Navet ran past with Matelote, each holding a box a fruit and Enjolras frowned, “why are you wet?” 

“Went swimming!” Navet told him cheerfully even though he had to shout to be heard over the screaming. 

“I know who you are.” The woman hissed and then sucked in her breath to steady herself, “I told them if I wasn’t back in five minutes they were to leave without me.” 

“Would they leave without you?” Enjolras asked sharply, looking over his shoulder. He could send the Proserpine away and he could go back for the Adrasteia.

The woman drew in a breath, shaky but her voice was sure, “yes. It’s easy to get passage on another ship from this port. Lots of beginnings and endings. They’re already on their way off planet by now. I couldn’t leave you, not once I realized who you were—the ghost.” 

“Ghost?” Enjolras asked, looking down at her. 

“They’re haunted. They—“ she hissed in pain. “Trouble really _does_ follow you then.” 

“It follows all of us.” Marius said quietly as Irma all but crashed into them. 

“Who is that?” Irma asked, taking Marius’ side and helping him up the gangplank. Enjolras and the woman were right on their heels and then Enjolras and Fantine pulled the gangplank up and secured it. “Three of the galleons are on fire, we have to get out of here.”

“We’re all here. Ready to go.” Fantine said breathlessly and then she raced below deck. 

Enjolras looked to Irma who was still waiting for an answer. “She is with us. Now let’s go!” The ship lurched even as he spoke and Enjolras gripped the side of the ship. He and the woman from the Adrasteia watched the port grow distant. Several of the ships were already on fire and several more were being fired upon as they made their escape. 

“Behind the frigate!” Enjolras and the woman both shouted at Cosette but she was already steering them that way. Men were screaming on the ship but they had moments to get out before Patron-Minnette blocked the skies. There was helping no one but themselves today.

The last time Enjolras had seen Patron-Minnette, they had been nothing more than a group of rogues. Now they had the power to block the skies. It was impossible to think about. They had made such progress but the Adrasteia was still only one ship.

The woman hissed in pain but she grabbed Enjolras arm and pointed across the sky— “They got out—see?” 

The Adrasteia was already distant in the sky, moving at a speed the Proserpine couldn’t hope to match. The important thing was to get out of the port and then they could chase after them. After all, what was a few more days, a few months more after all the years spent waiting?

“Are the canon’s ready?” The woman called to Cosette who nodded, Enjolras was under the impression she thought she was the captain and, well, it wasn’t like she was wrong. They had no captain and Cosette most frequently stepped up to the role. 

“Canons?” Enjolras asked but then they came out on the other side of the frigate and Enjolras understood. There could be a Patron-Minnette ship on top of them. 

Their grip on each other tightened as they braced themselves to move but their ship was too small to tempt Patron-Minnette from their larger targets. It was logical, of course, the most valuable thing they had on their ship was potatoes. Possibly the fruit Matelote and Navet had just carried onboard. 

“We’re fine. Get her to my mother!” Cosette shouted and Enjolras swore. Right. She had been shot. 

“I’m fine.” The woman sighed but she let Enjolras all but carry her down to where Fantine was fussing over Marius in the captain’s quarters which mostly served as a reading nook for Cosette, course charting headquarters, and an infirmary. 

She waved them over with a glance and Enjolras helped the woman next to Marius on the bench. He smiled at her and held out his uninjured hand for her to shake, “My name’s Marius.” 

She shook it with a smile, “Pontmercy? Of course you are. I’m Musichetta.” 

The room stilled around her, Fantine and Gibelotte were frozen and Marius only gasped. 

Musichetta continued, unfazed. “I’m from the Adrasteia. When I realized I had just spoken to _the_ Enjolras, I chased him down. Got shot for the trouble. They’re lucky I love them.” She sighed and shook her head, “we went our separate ways but don’t worry, they’ll find us soon.” 

“The Adrasteia?” Fantine asked, looking from Marius to Enjolras, her lips twisted in an unsure frown. 

“I joined the crew a little over two years ago. Because of Bossuet and Joly. We met when they were on Jeanatania 14 and when they left, I went with them. I don’t regret it.” Musichetta shrugged again and looked at Enjolras, “At first they didn’t speak your name. They didn’t talk about you at all. But I felt it—your absence was suffocating. I ended up getting it out of _Grantaire_ of all people but he only told me to stop my prying. It was terrible, honestly. I can’t believe you're alive. ”

“How are you so certain they’ll find us?’ Enjolras asked to stop himself from demanding to know everything. 

She pulled out a small bronze sphere, punched in a passcode on keys hidden in the grooves and a holographic nebula filled the cabin around them. 

There was a ship moving right by Enjolras’ face—Adrasteia. He stepped back and then tapped the air to zoom in on it. It sailed through the stars at a clip. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Jehan in the rigging, Combeferre at the prow. 

Navet slipped into the room, “we’re clear. We’re going full speed to get out of—oh what is _that_?”

“A holomap. Heavily modified.” Musichetta smiled, pride evident in her voice. 

“What direction should we head to meet up with them?” Enjolras asked, eyes still on the hologram. 

Musichetta shrugged like he wasn’t dependent on her answer, “they can track us anywhere. We just have to steer clear of other ships because any one of them could be another one of Patron-Minnette’s. I think the Adrasteia will head this way so if we go over here we should be untouched.” 

Navet looked at the map and then raced out of the room shouting, “I’ll be right back. Do _not_ turn that off.”  
  


* * *

  
The ship fell silent around them two days later as they were eating the oranges and pineapples Matelote and Navat had bought on Saint-Hyacinthe. The engines were done, the lights were down, everything had burnt out but the atmospheric system. It had taken a minute or two to confirm that the problem was unfixable. Fauchelevent had looked from the wiring to Enjolras and had only asked how he managed to get it to fly in the first place. 

Enjolras sighed, “well, it lasted much longer than I thought it would.” 

“Are we…” Marius began and then couldn’t find the words. He looked out the window to the stars with wide eyes. 

“Don’t worry.” Musichetta held up the map, “they’ll find us.” 

Space was cold and dark and if they didn’t find them soon, the only thing left to greet them would be a nightmare. Enjolras would sooner space himself than have his friends find him frozen. Musichetta had a confident gleam in her eye and possibly it was time he relearned a bit of faith. 

Not everyone abandoned their friends when they needed them most.

It had only been two days after all and the map showed the Adrasteia evading other ships as they headed their way.   
  


* * *

  
Musichetta’s confidence was contagious in the crew. Although, the alternative was to accept that escaping the moon had reunited Cosette with her father and husband, given them all a few months of freedom, and then damned them all to a cold, suffocating death. The artificial atmosphere continued to hold but no one was willing to stray very far from their suits anyway. They wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

Enjolras was napping in the captain’s quarters when Marius shook him awake with a frantic plea to wake up. Enjolras shot up, convinced the atmosphere was finally giving out but Musichetta was there too and she whispered, “pirates.” 

Enjolras swore, getting to his feet and dug his pistol out of his jacket pocket. “How did they sneak up on us?”

Marius and Musichetta both shook their heads and Musichetta shrugged, “the map’s in the galley. I left it with the potatoes and haven’t had time to check it in a while. The others should be no more than a day out still.”

The door opened and four dark figures crowded into the room. Marius, Musichetta and Enjolras all pointed their pistols at them and one of the pirates clicked the safety on theirs off. “You have a friend of ours and you will give her back.” 

Enjolras was suddenly reminded of standing outside his family’s house on Earth as his best friend waged his war for him. 

“Oh thank the heavens,” Musichetta sighed, laughing a little, even though her pistol was still raised. “Of course it’s you. How in the name of the stars did you reach us so quickly? I was _just_ telling them how you were still a day out. We thought you must be pirates.” 

“Musichetta!” One of the pirates hissed and she pointed her pistol at him instead. 

“Tell everyone to stand down.” She told him firmly now even though Enjolras felt his knees going weak. The familiarity of his voice, of his stance. Enjolras had been caught up in the going; he hadn’t had time to realize how wrong his world was until it started to right. 

“Joly?” Marius asked, delighted, and light finally flared up in front of them. Enjolras lifted his hand, suddenly reminded of when he, Jehan, and Bahorel broke out of a prison on Juliusz. He couldn’t remember what they had been charged for but he remembered the flash of the warden’s light in his eyes the same moment Combeferre and Joly swept in on hoverboards to scoop them all up. 

“Pontmercy?” Courfeyrac asked, all attempts at menacing abandoned. His voice was raw and vulnerable and Enjolras felt his strength leave him. Marius grinned at him and Enjolras sank back down onto the desk chair. Courfeyrac was hugging Marius but the other three—Joly, Bahorel, Feuilly--stared at him. Their faces were ashen, numb and Enjolras felt largely the same except he could not keep the smile off his face. He looked at them and sighed, it quickly turned into a laugh and Courfeyrac pulled away from Marius sharply. He looked wildly around before his eyes landed on him. 

Enjolras laughed again at the terrified expression on Courfeyrac’s face. He couldn’t help it—he had never felt such relief before.“This is our ship.” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “I fixed it and it’s just broken down again. If the others are terrorizing the rest of a crew tell them to stand down. We haven’t kidnapped Musichetta.” 

Bahorel took a step towards the door and then shot towards Enjolras. He pulled him off the chair into a hug that made his back crack and then he raced out of the room, shouting something Enjolras couldn’t make out. 

“You were dead. We saw your skip crash. All our readings said it was uninhabitable.” Courfeyrac whispered like he fully believed he was a specter.

Enjolras shook his head, “survived.”

“How?” Feuilly asked. 

“The working class never left the moon. They were left for dead and many were killed but those who survived are strong and angry. We survived.” 

Marius put a hand on Courfeyrac’s arm, they were happy to see him but they knew he was alive. For some reason, they had abandoned him to Earth. 

Enjolras was a ghost in their eyes but he had never felt more alive. He shut his eyes, forced air into his lungs. Courfeyrac. Feuilly. Bahorel. Joly. Marius. All on the same ship. He opened his eyes again to see the others still staring. Of course they would be. He had vanished, burning, into the fog. Feuilly still clenched the pistol at his side but Joly’s eyes were wide and his smile grew wider. 

Enjolras felt his lips twist up at the sight of his grin. 

Musichetta gave a fond sigh before speaking, “When I realized I had spoken to the man who haunted you, I knew I wasn’t able to let him go.” 

“If I wasn’t already passionately in love with you…” Joly shook his head slowly and Musichetta gave a little curtsy.

Courfeyrac moved suddenly, a sob trapped in his throat. He wrapped his arms around Enjolras and crushed him against him. 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said and instantly knew he would never stop saying it as Courfeyrac shook around him. He held Courfeyrac tightly, one arm wrapped around his back, the other in his hair. He apologized over and over but eventually relief washed over him to the point that he laughed. If he was a little hysterical, well, he had earned a moment hadn’t he?

Courfeyrac pulled away, sniffling and offended. “I’m crying. I’m crying and you’re laughing. _Laughing_!” 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras laughed and pulled him in close. He threw his left arm out and Feuilly and Joly came in to join the hug. “I have fought for so long to get off that moon. We searched archives on every planet for a hint of you. We sailed in and out of so many ports but then we broke down and you found us like Musichetta said you would. You’re scooping us out of the stars like it’s nothing.”

“Well of course. Did she show you the map?” Feuilly said against his shoulder. Enjolras had misremembered his voice but the familiarity of it now gave him the strength to pull away, nodding. 

“She did. Are the others with you?” 

Joly and Courfeyrac dragged him from the room, up to the deck and then across the planks. Suddenly, Bossuet was there, and Jehan was beaming and then—

“I told you ‘chetta wouldn’t let herself be captured. Although this is a piece of junk. Who owns it?” If he had nearly collapsed in relief before it was nothing like what he was feeling now. That voice echoed and whispered through every one of Enjolras’ dreams and nightmares. 

Joly and Courfeyrac stepped aside and Grantaire was in front of him. It felt impossible. The years and the lightyears between them and now he was here, in front of him. _Grantaire_. 

Grantaire who stood straighter, who had a scar across his right eye, whose breath was caught in his lungs just like Enjolras’. 

“You—“

“He rebuilt it.” Joly chirped, hand on his hip. There was pride in his voice but also a teasing. 

“I told you I listened.” Enjolras said, still drinking in the sight of him. Enjolras’ sword was tucked into his belt. Enjolras’ pistol was in his hand. Huh. So Gavroche hadn’t gotten it after all. 

Jehan gave Grantaire a little shove and then he was in Enjolras’ arms. Enjolras sighed, wrapping his arms around him tight. Grantaire gripped the back of his shirt, he shook but Enjolras held him. Space could claim them as its own and Enjolras would be content. Grantaire was real and solid in his arms. More muscles than he remembered, his hug was tighter, but they were _together_. A word that had been impossible for years. 

For a moment, Enjolras thought Grantaire was finally at a loss for words. How many withering glances had Enjolras shot while clinging onto his every word as Grantaire would just not stop talking? Grantaire drew in a breath and--well, not even Enjolras coming back from the dead could still his tongue. 

“Proserpine. Do you fancy yourself funny now? Will you compete with Bossuet for who can elicit the most laughs from the crowd? Tell me--am I Hades or Demeter or do I presume too much through such a long stretch of time?” 

“I didn’t name her and I will have you be no one who spends half the year out of my grasp.” 

Grantaire drew in a breath, still unwilling to lift his head from his shoulder, and a sniffle betrayed the bravado in his voice. He squeezed him tightly once and then stepped back wiping at his eyes, “well—don’t let me stop you.” His voice was rough but sarcastic as he waved the other two past him.

Jehan and Bossuet hugged Enjolras tightly. Bossuet was laughing but Jehan was threatening him. His accent was pronounced and Enjolras only caught snippets of his words. Threats of death and dismemberment, exactly what you’d expect given their current situation. 

Enjolras beamed and looked up past the other two. There was a young woman hanging back, talking to Marius and Gavroche but he couldn’t see any other new crew members. Eventually, Bossuet pulled away and went with Joly back to the other ship. He kept looking threatening over his shoulder, probably to let him know that he was going to make good on Jehan’s promise if he made for the skips. Jehan, unperturbed by his departure, continued to threaten Enjolras’ chest. Finally, he pulled away far enough so that he could put his hands on either side of his face and look him in the eyes, “Your foolishness might have saved our lives but I will be eternally cross about it.” 

“I’ll forever regret my actions. The past four years have been a nightmare.” 

Jehan pulled away, “I’ll accept that.” 

Enjolras smiled and then looked around. Being back had distracted him from the fact there was still a face he hadn’t seen. “Where’s Combeferre?” Enjolras asked and Courfeyrac’s face fell instantly. 

No. 

“Why do you look like that?” Grantaire asked Courfeyrac who immediately looked around and Enjolras’ heart resumed it’s beating. “For the love of, I’m serious what sort of reaction was that?”

“Reactions are my strong point right now. I didn’t realize ‘chetta had gone after _Enjolras_ . _And_ Marius.”

“Marius?” Jehan asked and then spotted him. 

Marius smiled and that made Jehan frown, “what are you doing here?”

“Following Cosette and Enjolras to my friends.” 

“Come here then.” Jehan smiled, holding out his arms. Marius hugged him and Jehan asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at Enjolras over Marius’ shoulder, “Cosette?” 

“And Fantine. Fauchelevent is here as well.”  
  
“Thank you for returning the Pontmercy’s to us.” Jehan grinned and then squeezed Marius tightly and lifted him off his feet. Enjolras grinned and then someone cleared their throat next to him. Turning and looking down expectantly, Enjolras had to raise his gaze to look Gavroche in the eye. 

He crossed his arms across his chest and glared at him, “you promised me your pistol when you died but your husband claimed it for himself.” 

“As you can see I’m not dead so he was right in withholding it.” 

Gavroche was not amused, “I’m fourteen now and Éponine said I was allowed to have my own pistol and her vote holds more weight than yours.” 

“I don’t know who Éponine is.” 

Gavroche’s eyes went wide, “you’ve missed a _lot_ during the past four years. She’s my sister. She was with Patron-Minette but I convinced her to join us. By the way, you know that man you killed near that moon? He was one of their founding members. Claquesous. They’re quite cross with us.”

“ _What_ ?” Enjolras asked because, really, _what_. 

Gavroche grinned and then caught sight of something on the other ship, “a _kid_? Enjolras? Really?” 

“That’s Navet. I’d say he’s worse than you but I don’t want you to see it as a challenge.” 

Gavroche sent him a withering look and he shot off to the other ship. 

Grantaire opened his mouth to speak but instead grinned at something behind Enjolras and stepped out of the way. 

“Enjolras!” Combeferre shouted and he swept him off his feet into a hug. 

“Here’s the reaction I thought he was going to get from the lot of you.” Musichetta cried, throwing a hand up in mock outrage. 

“I think I’m in shock.” Courfeyrac’s voice was still faint but Cosette walked across the plank with her trunk and he rushed to help her. The ships were tied together tightly and it would only take a few minutes to empty the Proserpine. 

“What happened?” Combeferre demanded but Enjolras could say the same exact thing. He had a scar running along the side of his face and he had lost weight. 

“They’ll explain everything later.” Courfeyrac called right before he disappeared below deck. 

“I agree with Courfeyrac. We’ll wait until tonight and we can all tell our stories once.” Combeferre squeezed Enjolras’ wrists and looked over the decks. They had to move fast if they wanted to salvage what they could from the Proserpine. 

Bahorel swore under his breath as he passed with a crate, thanking the stars for the agreement. Enjolras narrowed his eyes, he didn’t like the feeling he was getting with Combeferre and Courfeyrac but it was okay. They had time to figure things out. 

Musichetta smiled, lifting her skirts up as she disembarked. She brushed them out as she turned to Enjolras. “Well?” 

Enjolras laughed and shook his head, “you were right, of course. They found us.” 

“I like the new dress.” Grantaire frowned, looked her up and down. Musichetta beamed. Joly whistled and from somewhere below deck, Bossuet did the same. Someone else as well but Enjolras couldn’t tell who. 

“Thank you. Some heiress left them unattended on Les Hallux and they’re ours now. You’ve met Cosette right?”

“Cosette?” Joly asked, and he turned to look to Marius. Marius tilted his head to the side, “your Cosette?” 

Marius smiled and scrunched up his nose, “she was on the moon with Enjolras. They’ve been together this whole time.” 

“I thought that both ships survived was too impossible.” Joly smiled breathlessly. 

“Fantine is a better captain than I am.” Courfeyrac smiled on his way back over the ship. Enjolras was getting a little dizzy standing in the middle of all the comings and goings. 

“And…” Grantaire asked although it looked like he didn’t want to. 

“Burnt up in the atmosphere or the cruiser exploding.” Enjolras told him in a quiet voice. 

Grantaire sighed in relief and put his hands on his hips, “Oh okay, so Patron-Minette was correct in chasing our asses down for taking out one of their leaders.” 

“Gavroche said the same thing, what in all the galaxies do you mean?” 

“Le Cabuc was Claquesous.” Grantaire told him flatly. 

“Seriously?” Enjolras blurted out looking around like this was some weird sort of prank they were pulling on him. 

Grantaire laughed and pulled him in close, wrapping his hands around his waist. Enjolras did the same, quite unable to stop grinning. Around them their crew continued to strip the Proserpine of all useful bits and pieces but no one said anything to them despite the fact they were still directly in the way. Enjolras would help, but maybe later once he could pry himself away from Grantaire.

“I feel weird. We weren’t very public before you left.” Grantaire frowned and Enjolras took his hands off his hips. Grantaire grimaced, “No, I hate that more. I don’t care. Let them watch.” 

Enjolras didn’t know what face he made but it made Grantaire smile and kiss him. 

Someone nudged them and they broke apart to see Jehan grinning. He was carrying a chair and he shook his head, “no one wants to watch you two when we’re racing an atmosphere that _you_ built.” 

“I’m not getting on that thing if Enjolras put the atmosphere together.” Grantaire pressed his lips together and looked at the Proserpine like it was about to explode. 

“I looked at it, it’s fine. It’s perfect actually. I taught him well.” Feuilly said, heading back to the ship on their other side. 

“Oh did you.” Grantaire laughed and followed after him. Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to part from Grantaire so soon so he trailed after him. 

It didn’t actually take very long at all to gut the ship and soon they were pushing off, watching it float away where it would be another ghost haunting the darkness of space. 

“I liked that ship.” Cosette frowned. 

“I kept waiting for it to splinter beneath our feet.” 

“Did you really fix it up?” Jehan sounded like he didn’t believe him but that was alright, it would have been an impossible task four years ago. 

“Had to stop waiting for a miracle and create my own. Also I had a lot of help on the moon.” 

Combeferre gimanced, “We circled the moon for two weeks, evading guardships and that fog.” 

“I know.” Enjolras made sure to look them all in the eye so they knew he meant it, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was in and out of consciousness for a month after the ship crashed.” 

“There’s not a scar on you.” Combeferre frowned. 

Enjolras rolled up his shirtsleeve to reveal the burn on the inside of his right arm. He untucked his shirt to show the burn on his side. 

“Oh.” Grantaire and Combeferre both gasped. 

“My hip and legs as well. My hip was shattered couldn’t walk for a year but it healed quick.” 

“That’s why I didn’t recognize you.” Grantaire said, putting his arm around Enjolras’ waist and kissing his shoulder. “Your walk isn’t the same.” 

“Because why would we look at someone's face.” It was remarkably easy to slip into their old banter again. 

“I gave up looking strangers in the eye. None of them could be you.” Grantaire murmured into his shoulder. 

Enjolras heart lurched but Bossuet cut in, “don’t let him lie to you. He searches every room, every port for you. We might have believed you dead on that moon but none of us ever stopped searching.” 

Enjolras directed a cool glare at Grantaire as he sheepishly pulled away but he leaned over and kissed him anyway. Grantaire smiled against his lips and pulled back. 

“Okay. So what were we doing before this interruption?” 

“Absolutely not. We’re going to have supper and our new and returning crew members are going to tell us what they’ve been up to for the past four years.” Courfeyrac demanded, taking Combeferre’s hand carefully. 

“Be careful,” the woman Enjolras realized was Éponine said, “if you start searching them for information, they’re going to start asking questions back.”

Courfeyrac stilled for a moment and then gave a weak little shrug with a glance to Combeferre, “it’s okay. It’s not a secret.” 

Combeferre caught Enjolras’ eye but his expression was unreadable before he turned to Courfeyrac, “come help me peel some potatoes.” 

“Yeah what’s up with all the potatoes?” Courfeyrac asked Irma and Floréal. 

“It’s the only thing that grew on the moon.” Irma sighed and followed them below deck. 

“If no one needs me, I’m going to lay down for a bit?” Marius said and Bahorel swept him off his feet to carry him below deck. “It’s just my arm. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Marius protested as they disappeared below deck. 

Enjolras watched them all, he knew their movements, he knew where they would falter and how best to step in. So he did, he slipped back into the routine like not a day had gone by.   
  


* * *

  
Despite Courfeyrac professing that he had no secrets, conversation for the first couple of days was entirely one sided. Maybe some of the others were getting answers but Enjolras was constantly the one talking. 

It was fine though, because they had time. He would get the answers he needed when his crewmates were ready to give them. 

He awoke in the middle of the night and at first just laid there, content with listening to the sounds of his family breathing around him. This is what Paris had been missing. Then, carefully, as not to wake Grantaire who was curled up next to him, he climbed to his feet and headed onto the deck. 

It was dark and still and Enjolras trailed his hands along the ship. He had been both proud and upset with Grantaire and Bossuet the first time he was on the Adrasteia. Now he was proud of them and upset with himself. 

A sound behind him caused him to still and then he turned to see Grantaire making his way onto the deck. 

“You would think that after being alone for so long, I wouldn’t seek the quiet out.” Enjolras said with a wry smile. 

“You know you were never alone, right?” Grantaire asked, his footsteps light on the deck. “You whisper about being alone, of being unanchored. But you built a ship, you gathered a crew. Just because they weren’t us doesn’t mean they aren’t yours.” 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said, “I—“ The words jammed in his mouth, there were too many, he couldn’t pick a direction. Grantaire began to shake his head, began to brush him off. Enjolras was still haunted by the way he had brushed Grantaire off during those last foolhardy seconds before he flung himself into the skip and shot off after Le Cabuc. 

“I don’t want to be without you. I prayed for the fog to devour me. I couldn’t live with myself for the way I left you. I should have never taken the skip.” 

Grantaire shook his head, resolved in his decision to forgive him, “You did. It’s done and it's over. You are here and damn all the rest.” 

It was too easy, Enjolras didn’t want to brush it aside. Grantaire shook his head again and put his hands on either side of his shoulders, guiding him over to the side of the ship and then he sat them both down right on the deck. “I came up here to watch the stars nearly every night you know. I kept thinking about how it was impossible that you weren’t out there somewhere.”

“The fog hid the stars but I searched the mist for you anyway. When we landed in Paris I took one of my textbooks because you had repurposed it into a sketchbook. It’s with my things.” 

“Hush.” Grantaire murmured against his shoulder and Enjolras smiled softly at him. He tilted his head back and just looked at the stars as Grantaire used him as a pillow and fell back asleep.

Paris couldn’t dream of comparing with this. 

Several moments later, someone else climbed the stairs and Courfeyrac looked around cautiously before spotting them. 

“Here you are.” Courfeyrac settled in on the deck next to him like they were first years at the Académie again. 

“I _just_ came up.” Enjolras protested, unable to get the smile off his lips at the sight of him. 

“I find myself wholly unable to let you wander from my sight.” He leaned forward to look at Grantaire, “and it seems I’m not the only one.” 

“That will eventually prove to be problematic.” 

Courfeyrac shrugged like it simply did not matter. “You’re not to leave us again. As I told your grandfather in the past, I am not above kidnapping.” 

“I didn’t think to visit him.” Enjolras said, realizing for the first time that he had been in Paris with his grandfather and had not thought of going to him once. 

“He thinks I was the death of you.” Courfeyrac tried for a solemn tone but it was ruined by a bit of pride in his voice. 

“Perhaps next we’re in Paris I’ll tell him he was wrong.” 

“Perhaps you’ll introduce him to Grantaire.” 

“He would be proud of his art, I think.” 

“Make sure you tell him it was I who made the connection.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. There was silence for a moment and then Enjolras asked, “What happened while I was gone? Truly?” 

“Combeferre and I got into a fight. He left the crew. Bahorel and Jehan as well. We didn’t see each other for a year.” 

Enjolras turned, eyes wide. Of all the possible outcomes—he never considered— Courfeyrac and Combeferre had been devoted to each other from the moment Enjolras introduced them. Suddenly, he remembered the dark look in Musichetta’s eyes when she said he hadn’t taken any lovers recently. He wrapped his free arm around him and pulled him into a one sided hug. “When we go, we’ll go together.” 

Courfeyrac hugged him back, “that better be a promise.” Courfeyrac laughed and Enjolras smiled. 

“Have you made up?” 

“Multiple times. Loudly.” Courfeyrac grinned and then the smile faded, “we still fight. I think it will get bad again now that you’re back and many of our arguments are rendered meaningless.” 

“If you fought over what I would have wanted, I’ll tell you. It’s that the two of you didn’t fight.” 

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and elbowed him before looking up into the stars and drifting back into melancholy. “We wanted to give Pontmercy a fresh start. We left him with his grandfather and father-in-law. We didn’t go to him and tell him we survived.”

“If he wishes to return to Paris we will sail him there ourselves. But it will be his choice.” 

“Yes.” Courfeyrac said, looking out over the stars, “he must play an active role in his life.” 

“I think he’ll choose to stay. I think he’ll choose to continue to fight alongside us until comes a time he and Cosette find a more stationary place to call home. “ 

“I quite like the notion of having some place to return to.” 

“Returning _does_ feel quite nice.” 

“I thought you were lost.” Courfeyrac laughed suddenly. “R nearly spaced himself. He tried to follow you into that fog. He nearly jumped.” 

Enjolras ran his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, he snored a little and Enjolras fought back a laugh. He really could sleep anywhere. “I think if our roles had been reversed, I would have.” 

“One thing I quite like about you being back from the dead is that neither of you feel it necessary to deny your feelings.” 

“I fought too hard to return to you all. It would be worthless for me to deny my feelings now.” 

Courfeyrac leaned his head against Enjolras shoulder and Enjolras’ smiled. Shutting his eyes, he allowed himself one moment to savor being back with the people he cared most for in the galaxy and then they would go back down and back to sleep.   
  


* * *

  
It was easy to slip into a new routine. Especially when the new routine involved sneaking into the cargo hold to spend time with Grantaire where they weren’t in danger of being walked in on. 

Enjolras had taken a spare blanket and laid it out on the floor, it wasn’t much but it was slightly better than laying on the wooden flooring. He was sprawled out half on top of Grantaire kissing him like he was making up for lost time, which he was. Now that he had him back, he never wanted to let him go. 

Enjolras was itching to get back to his old life, he wanted to cure the universe of every injustice but he knew the importance of the crews working together. It was important that everyone was ready to step into any role. So as the two crews melded into one, he would sneak off with Grantaire and try to make up for pulling away, for leaving him with nothing but a ghost, a memory. 

“Stop thinking.” Grantaire murmured against his lips. 

“Oh is this where you two disappear to?” Joly asked, his voice coming from right on top of them. 

Enjolras gave a tiny yelp of surprise and then laughed at himself. Grantaire sighed and did nothing to help Enjolras make them presentable. They weren’t naked, but they weren’t altogether _decent_ either. 

Joly turned his back to them and sat down on a crate. Enjolras tried to quiet himself but he was unable to stifle his laughter. Joly had caught him completely by surprise. 

“Excuse me, my good sir,” Grantaire said, his voice rough, “But would you mind giving us the floor.?” 

“I have my back towards you.” Joly said like that was a concession on its own. Grantaire’s laughter echoed Enjolras’. “We’ll be with you shortly.” 

“Not too shortly though.” Enjolras told Joly as he finally gathered himself and caught his breath. 

Joly would not be shaken loose so easily and only sat there, still and silent for another moment. Finally, Grantaire gave in, “Alright, what news has brought you down here?” 

“With our crew whole again and more robust than ever we’ve decided to come up with a new plan of attack.” 

Enjolras sat up and Grantaire let out a long suffering sigh. “Jolllly…” he sighed again and Joly twisted around to look at them. His smile was wide and his dimples were pronounced. 

“Come upstairs and we’ll tell you about it.” 

Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ waist even as Enjolras began to button his shirt and groaned again, “ _don’t_.” 

“They have a plan. They’re making plans!” Enjolras put his hands over Grantaire’s and shook them lightly to convey his excitement. 

Grantaire sighed, “They have better be small plans. If one more person asks me to sneak into the Guard’s base to steal--” Joly waved his arms in the corner of Enjolras’ eye and Grantaire stopped talking. Enjolras looked between the two of them, the more his crewmates accidentally let slip, the more he was convinced he was the only sane one onboard. 

“You did _what_?”

Grantaire sat up and Joly turned around so they could gather themselves in peace. “You would have been beside me, don’t you dare start with that tone. And Joly, thank you for the false modesty if you were a true friend you would have simply said we had taken a skip and fled.” 

Joly shoulders slumped and he did not turn around. “If Enjolras so much as steps on a skip you’ve instructed the crew to fire on sight.” 

Enjolras kept quiet because he didn’t know if it was touching or hilarious or depressing. Grantaire didn’t say anything until they were climbing up the stairs to the galley, “oh that’s right, I did.” 

Enjolras and Joly shared a glance and then they entered the galley to minor pandemonium. Enjolras smiled at the way it just felt _right_. 

“Enjolras! Floréal has just informed me of the fact that you regularly went out in atmospheric suits! After I once nearly died when you refused to put one on!” Courfeyrac shouted. 

Navet and Gavroche were shouting to be heard above the din as well but both boys had wicked grins on their faces so Enjolras was going to pretend not to hear them. 

“The only talking I want to hear is what plan you’ve all apparently been making. We were in the middle of something I’m keen to get back to.” 

Enjolras looked to Grantaire, lip curling, one hand lifted in the air. He really didn’t need to give the crew that kind of ammunition against them. 

Sure enough, Matelote pursed her lips together and raised her eyebrows before speaking, “we’ve decided we need somewhere to base ourselves out of.” 

“Someplace where, if we’re separated, it’s safe to go to be reunited.” Marius added. “And where we can store extra supplies.” Feuilly finished

Not the most pressing of plans but a logical step for their crew. It was something small they could accomplish together as they learned how to work together. Enjolras was a little surprised but when he glanced at Grantaire to see what he thought (he was looking at Bossuet and mouthing something Enjolras couldn’t see) he realized he knew the perfect place. 

“We can go back to Les Hallux O65. We can make our stand from there.” Enjolras said and the entire crew turned to look at him. He regarded each of their faces but none of them held anything but a glowing sense of purpose. “We have the technology to research the planet. We can use the fog to our advantage. They can’t see out but no one can see in either. We can build a resistance from that place forward.” 

“I’m in.” Grantaire said and Joly laughed. 

He turned to Enojolras with a mischievous glint in his eye, “He swore that if he had another chance he would say yes to you more often.” 

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and turned to Grantaire, an idea already on his lips, “Will you—“

Like clockwork, Grantaire scoffed and threw his hands out at his side. “He asks me to do chores. He mocks my grief.” 

“You don’t know that’s what I was asking you.”

“I know you,” Grantaire grinned through his frown, “and it was.” 

“Yes, Enjolras. I’ve only been on the brig with you for a short time but you were going to ask him to mop the deck.” 

“I think that would work. And we would be helping the people as well. Our friends.” Cosette added, steering the conversation back on target, “even with infrequent travel we could bring them supplies.” 

“We could fix Madam Houcheloup’s greenhouses. We could rebuild the gardens and convert them into greenhouses as well.” Fantine rested her elbows on the table in front of her and placed her chin on her entwined fingers. 

“This sounds like quite a lot of farming.” Combeferre said but he was taking notes and hadn't meant it as a complaint. 

“I’ve wasted the past four years trying to get off that planet but--” 

“It wasn’t wasted time.” Grantaire said, “you found all the Pontmercy’s. You built a ship. We all learned we’re weaker apart but we can survive the impossible.” 

“You are insufferable in your cheerfulness now that Persephone has returned your beloved.” Jehan teased. 

“More like Eros has once again entered your life.” Bossuet called. 

“I won’t deny it.” Grantaire grinned wickedly and several people protested about how small the ship was at once. 

“I knew you’d be like this.” Irma said, leaning forward. “Enjolras plays at being serious—“

“—a living David—“ Grantaire added with a grin. 

“Yet the stone crumbles around you and we see that the stone was just a projection against his flesh.” 

“Must you.” Enjolras sighed but there was no bite behind it. 

“How big are the gardens?” Combeferre interrupted, not looking up from his notebook. 

“They’re one of the wonders of the ancient world, how big do you think they are?” Gibelotte raised an eyebrow and Matelote wrapped her arms around her and tugged her close, apologizing to Combeferre as she did so. 

Grantaire rested his head on Enjolras shoulder and looked out over the room with him, “welcome home.” His voice was soft and teasing, meant only for him but of course someone overheard anyway. 

“Oh, does the ship finally feel like home Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asked, teasing but not altogether unkind. Grantaire waved his hand in a rude gesture. Enjolras’ heart soared at the thought of their homes being with each other but he would never say it outloud in front of the crew. He didn’t have much pride left but he was safeguarding what little remained. He hated the fact that Courfeyrac and Grantaire both looked a little wounded from the exchange though. They had gone through so much over the past four years. He had a lot to make up for. 

Enjolras frowned at both of them in turn, “I’m sorry I was away for so long.” 

“You don’t have to apologize.” They both said as one. 

Jehan tapped his tankard against the table, “No I think he should!” 

“I’m sorry, Jehan.” Enjolras said, meaning it. 

Feuilly frowned, “how can you insist on his continued apology when he is so obviously sincere?”

Jehan pursed his lips and rested his chin on his fist, “I mourned him for four years.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said again and went to squeeze onto the bench between Jehan and Bahorel. Grantaire made a face but found a spot near Irma to lean against the wall. 

“What can we bring back to O65?” Combeferre asked and their course was set.   
  


* * *

  
Two months later and they were once again looking at Les Hallux O65. The Proserpine was filled to the brim with parts to rebuild the greenhouses, instruments to study the makeup of the fog (Combeferre’s idea was to create an atmospheric barrier on the ship to allow their ships to pass through unharmed), and enough food and wine to last the rest of the year. 

From the deck, Enjolras looked at the moon, frowning. Grantaire put his hand in his, “you can stay on the ship if you want. I’ll make excuses. We’re staying for a while so I can’t say it won’t go unnoticed but--” 

“No, it’s just—I sort of missed it?”

“Home sweet home?” Grantaire asked with a crooked smile. 

Enjolras knew he was going to regret the words before he opened his mouth but he was tired of things going unsaid, “maybe now.” 

“Aw.” Bahorel cooed behind him and Enjolras had just _known_ that they hadn’t been alone. He turned around to see everyone crowding the deck, all vying for a look at the moon. 

“I like it.” Combeferre said, taking his place next to Enjolras, “it feels like we’re coming a bit full circle doesn’t it?” 

“And not a single guard ship came close to the moon for the past four years.” Courfeyrac added, coming to stand at his side. The two shared a glance and smiled. Good. They had both chosen different paths but both of them would be vital moving forward. They had divided and conquered even if all they were currently focusing on was the division. They would be okay. They all would be. 

“I cannot believe I’m happy to be going back to this space rock!” Floréal shouted, rolling her shirtsleeves up, “the first thing I’m going to do is repair the greenhouses. I’m not even going to say my hellos. It’s straight to work.” 

Grantaire looked over his shoulder at her, “That’s because you’re set on sugarcane.” 

“Grantaire I swear the only reason I haven’t spaced you yet is because Enjolras would jump after you.” She grinned, turning to him with her hands on her hips. 

Grantaire laughed in mock outrage and then pulled Enjolras to the other side of the ship, away from the others. He waited until the others attention was gone from them and then asked, slipping his hand into his. “I’m serious, are you alright?”

“I’ve spent so much time trying to get back to a place that was scattered across the galaxy. Home isn’t Paris or the Proserpine or Les Hallux. It’s the way Combeferre always knows what I’m thinking and how Courfeyrac can always make me laugh. It’s the way Cosette knows when to shout to make me see reason and how Floréal constantly goes behind my back to make sure my plans succeed. Home is the way you make me feel like we’ve already accomplished everything we set out to do. It’s the way you make me feel like we’re unstoppable.” 

“Oh. Is that what's bothering you?” Grantaire rolled his eyes but his grip on his hand was tight and that was all he needed. “You have us and we’re not losing you again. I will be informing Jehan you’re competing for his place as resident poet and I will be asking Gibelotte to start singing space shanties about something other than home because, as you have already so poetically said, this is it.” 

Enjolras thought back to the first time they left Earth over a decade ago. He grabbed hold of Grantaire shirt and pulled him in, resting their foreheads together, “this is it.” 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Team:** Enjolras  
>  **Theme:** Home  
>  **Prompt:** [Home Again](https://youtu.be/bdRUQWVGENo) by Elton John.


End file.
